The brioches swell in the oven. From their dumpy, round, little mounded
beginnings, they rise to perfection and bask in their golden sheen.
I look at them. They look back at me, stuck together, in a warm,
radiant daze. I long to be one of them.
Warm and golden, in a cozy snuggle. United. Together. In harmony with each
other. Rising together.
I wonder how it must feel to be one of them. To sit so snug
and safe with those around them. To be surrounded by each other, warm in the
embrace of those closest.
I look at them. They look back at me, light and airy, trembly
even, but confident of their space, owning their place. Together, yet each is independent
and free.
I wonder how it must feel to be one of them. To grow, to selfishly
thrive, without chiding oneself for taking up too much space, too many
resources, causing discomfort to others, especially those closest. Secure in
the knowledge, that each one is capable and safe and will rise – upwards.
My mind travels to my thoughts from a few hours earlier. I
gingerly place each carefully rounded ball, which until seconds ago, was a mass
of gnarly stickiness. I see as much tray as I see dough, and each ball has
space and air around it. I wonder if that space will get filled in. Will they
swell and use up all the space the tray has to offer, or will they remain alone
and separate, keeping a safe distance, even if that may keep them somewhat shriveled.
In my happy little world of sourdough and warm ovens, flour
and yeast, every bit of space in the pan is used up. The balls swell and rub
their non-existent shoulders with each other in cozy friendliness. Yet, each
doughy circle takes care of itself. It grows and rises, keeping faith that the
others will do so too. They rise together. They rise upwards.
I share my brioche stories with friends on a zoom call. Quarantine
makes the world shrink, it brings friends from different times and places
together. Friends, who humor my strangeness of perspective and gift me their
listening. A friend shares a quote. I
pay it forward, by sharing it here:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest
fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness,
that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented and fabulous?” Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.
Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about
shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant
to shine…
~ Marianne Williamson
Yes, there just may be enough space in the pan… and in the
world, for each of us. For each of us to rise. No one needs to be punched down
for the other to thrive. No one needs to rise faster and before the other –
especially if we are headed to the same place – our journey may be easier if we
support each other and rise together.
Everything that we
see, everything that we experience, is painted in large strokes of perspectives
of our life and our times, and events around us. That even when I peer in the
oven, to watch the brioches bake, these are the things that travel my mind. And
that my sweet brioches seem to be infused with so much that our world seems to
want and our lives seem to crave…
